The Last Unicorn
by Mel6
Summary: Seventh year and the final battle with Voldermort approaches and Harry finds himself facing a few situations he’d rather not. *Slash*


Title: the Last Unicorn

Author: Mel (wickedlady@iprimus.com.au)

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: R upward

Archived: Sugar and Spice: http://www.geocities.com/melly_blissbubbles/ anywhere else, just ask

Feedback: Please????

Disclaimer:  All characters and settings involved don't belong to me but to JK Rowling.  The songs used, and title, are from the old children's movie 'The Last Unicorn' based on the book by Peter S Beagle.  This is a work of fiction and is making no money at all.

Summary:  Seventh year and the final battle with Voldermort approaches and Harry finds himself facing a few situations he'd rather not.

Author's notes:  For Meg and her interesting Plot bunny attack.  Though this is not based on the 'Last Unicorn' story, it makes a good title and I'm more then certain that different aspects will show up in mine.  /song words/

Prologue

/When the last eagle flies over the last crumbling mountain.

And the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain./

Summer always seemed to go much too slow for Harry Potter.  The sixteen year old couldn't handle being with his family for too long, but something seemed to hang in the air this summer.  Perhaps it had something to do with the fact they new he wouldn't be back at the end of this Summer.  The very thought actually made Harry's heart skip, but he wasn't too sure what from.

For as long as he could remember Harry wanted to leave this place, it had been a fantasy for him, to dream of being spirited away from here, to never come back.  But now, knowing that in a few weeks his dream would actually come true Harry felt his heart ache.  When it came down to it, the Dursleys were the only family he had ever had and in their own twisted way what they had done they thought was for the best.

Uncle Vernon with his drill company.  For the longest time Harry couldn't have cared less what his uncle did when he left every morning.  But over the summer break Harry had taken to listening to his Uncle when he came home from work, where he would talk about work, getting rid of the wear of the day.  And Harry would listen, taking his Aunt's place as a soundboard for his Uncle.  He would complain about his employees, the prices, his suppliers and Harry would listen.  He knew his Uncle better now then he ever had in all his years of life.

That's a very sad thing, Harry thought, his eyes looking out the window, pushing his breakfast around in circles around his plate.  He had been with them for the longest time and though he was certain they hated him, he had done nothing to gain anything from them.  What did that say about the 'Boy who lived'?  That he was an uncaring Bastard?  Not quite, Harry conceded with a sigh.  But it was strange that when you seemed to hit a certain age you regret things that you hadn't done, to Harry it seemed such regret came much earlier then it possibly should have and he sighed at these thoughts.

Aunt Petunia looked up from the kitchen bench where she was busy beating something into a cake bowl.  His mother's sister was still quite pretty for her age, he had never stopped to look before.  Her blonde hair shone almost silver with age and was now long enough for her to pull into a ponytail, her eyes a deep brown.  Her clothes were simple and plain, rather motherly.  With Dudley off at school during the majority of the year Harry could only wonder what she did with her time.  Now that he took a moment to look around he could see what she did.

Her home was clean, immaculately so, but homely.  There were photos of Dudley on the shelf above the fireplace.  There were framed paintings on the soft yellow walls and a cabinet full of Aunt Petunia's good plates and silver ware.  Books filled three bookcases and were of a number of subjects from travel to history, cooking to a small collection of romance novels.

His Aunt was a romantic at heart after all.

During the summer break he had watched her, and when she finished her breakfast chores and before eleven when she would make her way down the street to a café for lunch with her friends she would sit quietly with a cup of tea resting precariously on the arm of her favourite chair.  She would then pick up one of the much-loved books that she had been reading the day before and continue till just before eleven.  Sometimes she would sigh and let the book fall open to her lap, her eyes turning to look out the window longingly.  Harry took his time to draw her one morning as she sat like that, the charcoal immortalising her forever.  He thought she was going to kill him when she found it.  But she surprised him, taping it to the fridge beside Dudley's quite good drawing of their home.  Who would have thought that Dudley would actually make a decent architect one day?

"If you're going to sulk boy, do so quietly or go outside.  It's a lovely day."  Aunt Petunia went back to her stirring.

Harry began to wish she'd be cruel.  He was used to that, he could handle that.  Harry could ignore her if she was being mean, he could grumble to his friends at how cruelly they had treated him on his last summer with them, tell them all how he was glad he was finally out.  It was harder to feel happy about leaving when they were all being so much nicer then normal to him.  Even Dudley, who was doing Summer school during the day, was being friendly.

Dudley willingly going to summer school still surprised Harry every time he thought on it.  Not only was his cousin willing, but excited.  Dudley had talked his ear off a few days ago all about it.  How by making up these grades he could get into college next year and actually do a course in architecture, which both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon supported surprisingly enough, Harry had always assumed he would get straight into Uncle Vernon's drill company after school finished.  Obviously his assumption was fairly far off.

Harry's eyes fell to the window.  Aunt Petunia was right, it was a beautiful day, though Harry didn't feel like participating in it.  He stared at the at the way the rose bushes moved slightly in the breeze, their pink petals soft and innocent and reminded him of an allusive memory that he was too old to remember what called to him from his youth.

"Aunt Petunia?"

The older woman looked back at he dark haired nephew.  Her blue eyes soft as she took in the haunted look of the young man before her.  Lily would be so proud of him.  "Yes Harry?"

"Can," Harry paused before he continued, "can we talk about my mother?"

~*~*~*~

The blonde reclined on his bed, his blue eyes closed as he rested.  It was early, he could tell, long before lunch, but he didn't feel the need to get up, though he was awake.  The first week of summer hols had been thankfully boring and allowed him to overcome the horrid experience that was sixth year.  The rest of the summer stretched out in front of him, long and full of things that were un-school related.  Not Harry Potter related.

Even the thought of the name brought a scowl to Draco Malfoy's perfected face.  What an absolutely disgusting thing to think of first thing in the morning.  Grumpy with his thoughts Draco sat up, deciding that now was actually a decent time to get up.

Yawning lazily and forcing any thoughts of Potter from his head Draco left his bed.  The sixteen year old didn't see much point in getting dressed, as he was in his own house, slipping into a dark green gown to spare the house elves any embarrassment if he happened to pass any of them.  Slippers went on his feet even as a brush ran through his hair before he walked out of his room.

Malfoy Manor hadn't changed in the months that Draco had been at school, not that he had expected it too, Malfoy Manor never changed, not since before he was born his mother had told him.  The place was old, stonewalls of a grey castle, a fortress.  Though this place could hold an army, it was home to his mother and father and himself, sometimes his grandmother would visit, but she was never there for long.

Tapestries hung from the walls, bringing a little colour to the bare and dreary walls of the hallways.  Draco knew the stone floors would be freezing, even though it was summer, and was glad he'd thought to put on his slippers as he padded through the hallways and towards the kitchen.

At the end of the hallway there was a huge mirror that went from the floor to the high roof and was framed with an intricate bronze pattern.  As Draco passed it he caught sight of his reflection.  He had let his blonde hair grow in the last few years and it now rested at his shoulders in fine strands that shone almost silver in this pale light.  He'd slick it back in true Malfoy style later, for now he didn't have to worry about it, it was the beginning of the summer hols so he didn't really care.  Draco had shot up with another growth spurt before he got home and was almost six foot now and towers over most of those in his year.  The thought makes him grin as he remembers how tiny he once was, and how now he's taller then Crabbe and Goyle.

Even with the extra height Draco was still light and agile, the perfect Seeker.  Well, not as perfect as Potter, but who cares, Draco thought grumpily, he doesn't also have to hold up to his father's standards, which was why not only was Draco Seeker and Captain of the Slytherin team but also head boy and the student with the highest marks, next to Granger.  He worked hard to be the best, though it would obviously never be enough.  Draco's mouth formed a grumpy frown, the good mood he had woken up in disappearing rapidly.  So what if Potter was a good Seeker?  His marks were shocking, he had trouble doing the simplest of potions and being around Dementors made him faint.  And yet everyone loved him, thought he was the best thing since sliced bread.

This year should belong to Draco, who was by far a better student then Potter could ever hope to be and from a good Wizard family to boot.  But he knew now, with out even starting the year yet, that it would not be so.  Everyone would remember that this year Harry Potter graduated from Hogwarts and only a few family remembers would remember that he did as well.  It was not fair, but Draco didn't complain.  Complaining and whining was for the weak and pathetic and Draco was by far neither.

And so, pushing the grumpy thoughts from his head he tried to regain some of the good mood he was in only moments before and made his way down towards the kitchens.

He moved through the house easily, down the stairs and through the foyer.  He passed the portrait room, where there were images of his family dating back generations.  He had expected it to be empty, people only went in there when he or his father wanted to show off.  But it wasn't.

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room was Draco's mother.

She was beautiful, her long and fine blonde hair fell to her hips, unbound.  That was a surprise as her hair was usually up and out of the way in a practical bun.  Her eyes were a darker blue then her son's and there was many a time that Draco wished he had her eyes as well as her hair.  Draco loved his mother with every fibre of his being and would do anything for her.  He would live for her, die for her, love for her.  The broken figure before him made Draco want to cry for the first time in many years.

He stepped softly forward, resting a pale hand against the black material of her dress.  "Mother?"

She looked up at him and Draco almost died at the look in her eyes.  The pain, the horror, something had died in his mother, the loving light gone, replaced with something so painful that Draco couldn't breath.  The tears that ran down her cheeks did not go unnoticed.

"Drake," she whimpered her pet name for him, one hand grabbing his as if it were her only lifeline.  And she was suddenly sobbing, her body shaking as if it would break.  Draco caught her, holding his smaller mother close.  He stroked her hair, feeling tears wheal in his own eyes.  Merlin no, not now, he couldn't hear this.

But his mother was already talking, whimpering in pain.  "Your father, he," more tears, cries stopping her from talking for a moment.  I can't hear this now.   "Voldermort killed him last night my little Drake…"

Tbc…


End file.
